Another such victory and I am undone
by kalyzio
Summary: Complete! A mock trial pits Mike and Louis against Harvey. With Mike vulnerable on the stand, how far is Harvey willing to go for a win? Non-slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: Throwing in my contribution to the array of fics to tide us over until next season (a friggin YEAR? Suck.) Anyone up for inventing a time machine that can jump forward?  
><strong>

**Written for a prompt by phreakycat on suitsmeme. To avoid spoilers, prompt will be posted at the end of the story. Thanks for the brilliant idea! (and before I'm whacked over the head with the suitsmeme!modstick of doom and destruction, I do have every intent of posting the story to LJ once I have the time to sit down and format it properly). Hope you enjoy.**

:::

_"Another such victory and I am undone." - one translation of the words of King Pyrrhus of Epirus, after a victory over the Romans. He lost a third of his army in the battle._

:::

Harvey's voice was quiet and leaden, accusatory, even. "You were a disappointment."

Mike flinched at the words. "No."

"You were given the opportunity of a lifetime. You were given a chance when you deserved nothing. And you threw it all away for some quick cash."

Every word, no, every _syllable_ cut straight through to his core and clenched around his heart.

The room was so goddamn hot. He could feel the harsh lights beating down on him, and his throat was constricting - there wasn't enough _air_. He was the focal point, and the room was canting alarmingly, whirling around him, a blur of bright colors and heavy, leather-bound books, a blur of dark suits, of unfriendly, hungry eyes.

Sharks. They were all bloodthirsty sharks.

Blindly, desperately, he looked at Harvey, Harvey, who had _always_ been his rock of stability in this unfamiliar world. But it was a stranger who reflected back at him, a stranger whose face was set in hard lines, a stranger damning him with uncompromising dark eyes.

And he was defenseless. Every word was ripping him apart.

"You were a disappointment," Harvey repeated softly, and Mike felt something _well_ up within him, some great emotional upheaval. Because it was _Harvey_ saying these things, _to him_, and all he could feel was the ground slipping away, the gaping grasp of the dark abyss reaching forward eagerly to claim him whole.

His lips were frozen. He couldn't speak. It was all he could do to breathe.

:::

_earlier…_

"Please state your name and occupation for the court."

Mike shifted slightly in the chair, leaning forward to speak into the microphone. "Chris Carlsen. I'm an undergrad at UC Berkeley."

"Mr. Carlsen," Harvey smiled with every appearance of friendliness. "Your story is one that warm hearts."

Mike clearly hadn't been expecting the words. His brow furrowed slightly, and he darted a quick, nervous glance at where Louis Litt sat, at the defense table.

Good. The kid had no idea how suspicious that had made him look to the jury of senior partners. Harvey suppressed a smirk as Louis made a small, panicked motion with his hands, trying to gesture Mike to look back at him. Anything that put that sort of expression on Louis' face was always satisfying.

Harvey moved forward a few steps toward the witness stand. "Mr. Carlsen. Born to Lucile Carlsen and Thomas Shaw. Your father left when you were very young, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And your mother worked three jobs simply to make ends meet."

"Yes."

"Objection, relevance." Louis said, "Where is this going?"

"If defense counsel would be as patient as I was during his lengthy diatribe masquerading as direct ex -" and here Louis' lips twisted with annoyance - "I promise I have a point."

"Arrive at it, counsel," Jessica said. She favored him with a look that any outsider might regard as neutral, but Harvey knew her well enough to recognize the warning.

Fair enough.

"Mr. Carlsen," he addressed Mike, "Please describe how you met the plaintiff, Professor John Russell."

Mike cleared his throat. "We met at the Berkeley Bowl. It's a local supermarket."

"That's being a bit loose with the details, isn't it?"

Resolutely, Mike stared back at him.

"Describe _precisely_ your encounter with Professor Russell."

"Professor Russell was shopping. I tried to nick a few items from him, and he noticed."

"Or to rephrase, you attempted to steal his wallet and he caught you. Is that correct?"

_Rick Sorkin. A briefcase of pot spilling to the ground. Whoa. What's this?_

"Yes." Mike's face flushed with color.

Another rookie mistake. Harvey was almost discouraged; he had thought Louis would have somewhat better prepared the kid to act as a witness.

"What happened then?"

"He asked me for my name and he asked me why I was trying to steal from him. I told him, my mom and I needed some money for food and rent, the bills. He said he was a professor of EECS - that's electrical engineering and computer science - at UC Berkeley, and offered me a job in his lab."

"He offered you a job?" Harvey affected surprise, "When by rights, he should have called the police on you?"

_I'm inclined to give you a shot._

"Objection, hearsay." Louis. "The defendant cannot possibly presume to speak to the psychology and thought processes of Professor Russell to an event that happened more than a half-decade ago - "

"I'll rephrase," Harvey cut him off. "After Professor Russell caught you attempting to steal from you, he did _not_ call the police. Instead, he offered you a job. Would you consider that a generous action?"

There was a nod.

"A verbal answer, please. For the record."

"For the record," Mike looked at him steadfastly, "I owe him everything."

:::

_yesterday_

Harvey suspected something was off from the second he had heard about the case, if 'case' was even an adequate descriptor. Jessica called it a mock trial, Louis practically purred as he referred to 'the wager to end all wagers', and Harvey -

Well honestly, Harvey termed the whole damn exercise as a colossal waste of time.

He had said as such, when Jessica had first called the two partners into her office and brought up the idea.

"Jessica, this is a wonderful idea," Louis said eagerly, "This is an excellent, excellent opportunity to demonstrate to the junior associates _precisely_ how a real trial should be done."

"This is a goddamn waste of time," Harvey said, in the same breath.

Jessica looked severely at him. "Would you care to repeat that?"

He was _more than willing_ to repeat himself, and had just opened his mouth to do so, when she cut him off.

"Regardless, the decision has been made." She held up two leather-bound briefs. "The case, gentlemen."

"Jessica," he was obligated to protest.

An eyebrow arched skyward. "Harvey."

"I have a dozen _actual_ high-profile cases I should be working on, and even Louis might have enough pieces of a case to make one. Is this really the best use of firm resources?"

"For your information, my financials exceed yours by at least tenfold - " Louis began.

"Gentlemen," Jessica said firmly, "Harvey, I must apologize."

Thank God she was willing to listen to reason after all. "Accepted," he said, easily.

And then faltered under the weight of her glower. "I must apologize," she continued, through tightly pressed lips, "because it seems I have been unclear in some fashion. Whether or not you participate in this mock trial is _not_ up for debate. You are both participating, and I will _not_ abide by you putting in any less than your full effort. Is that understood?"

Fine. If that was the way it had to be. Harvey made a mental note to track down Mike and pass this off to the kid at the first opportunity.

"I have decided that Mike Ross will be working with Louis. He will play the part of the defendant."

It took a moment for the implication of her words to sink in, and then dismay - interspersed with a fair amount of complete and utter disbelief - coursed through him. There was an annoying, smug little grin on Louis' face that wasn't helping.

It _really_ wasn't helping.

"Mike is my associate," he began.

"I'm in charge of all the associates," Louis countered swiftly.

Jessica cleared her throat rather pointedly. "Are you two partners at one of New York's most prestigious law firms or two boys squabbling in a schoolyard?"

He made every attempt to look absolutely affronted. She saw right through his pretense and smiled serenely back at him. Damn if he was going to go down quietly though! "You assigning my associate to Louis...is this some form of revenge because I wouldn't let you eat my chili-cheese fries at the last game?"

Her expression went from exasperated to dangerous.

_You wouldn't dare_, her eyes warned.

He did dare.

"Next Yankees game, Jessica," he said, "Hey, maybe you go with Louis for a change? I'm sure he'd let you eat all his nachos. He'd probably even order extra cheese, just the way you like it."

Louis puffed his chest out proudly, Jessica's face froze into a rigid smile, and Harvey hastily ducked out while he still had his head firmly attached to his body.

After all, he much preferred it that way.

:::

Harvey picked up a copy of some loose yellow, gridded paper that looked as if it had been ripped from some engineering notebook. "Permission to approach the witness."

"You may," Jessica said.

He handed the paper to Mike. "Please identify this to the court, Mr. Carlsen."

"It's the first draft of the algorithm."

"What algorithm?"

"It's our face detection algorithm. Professor Russell researches artificial intelligence."

"Without entering too many technical details, can you briefly describe how such an algorithm works?"

Hook.

Right on cue, Mike started spewing information. Harvey briefly caught mentions of various terms like skin color model, binary pattern-classification, Haar basis functions, cascading classifiers...

Line.

He suppressed a smile as he said, "That is quite an impressive amount of information. And who taught you all that?"

And sinker.

"Professor Russell," Mike said, reluctantly.

"How did you go from being a kid he picked up off the streets to helping him research?"

"He started me off with some simple database work. Then he realized I was pretty snappy at picking up computer languages and figuring out algorithms."

_What if I told you I consume knowledge like no one you've ever met?_

"Such as the algorithm on that sheet of paper in your hands." Harvey returned to his desk, and picked up a copy of the evidence. "Your Honor, I move to have the notes, previously marked as Plaintiff's Exhibit 3, entered into evidence at this time."

"Yes."

Harvey addressed Mike again. "Mr. Carlsen. Can you please identify who wrote these notes?"

"Professor Russell did."

"Is this, to the best of your knowledge, the first time this algorithm was written down?"

"Yes, but – "

"Where were you when these notes were made?"

"I was working on a Python script to scrape a web database."

"To surmise: nothing to do with face detection algorithms."

"I had _previously_ spoken to him about my idea – "

"But there is no record of such a conversation, is there?"

"No, but I – "

"I need a direct answer, not excuses."

Someone in the audience snickered. The tips of Mike's ears went red.

"There is no record of such a conversation?" Harvey repeated. Jesus, the kid was allowing himself to be led far too easily.

"I _know_ what happened."

"An answer, please."

Mike's jaw jutted out. "The record's in my mind."

That was better. At least the kid was putting up some semblance of resistance (futile as it was), and this entire cross-examination was far less embarrassing for all involved.

"Short of a mind meld, do you acknowledge that there is no evidence besides your word that such a conversation between yourself and Professor Russell regarding this face detection algorithm ever happened prior to these notes being written down?"

"I'd be willing to submit to a lie detector test," Mike said.

A smile tugged at his lips at the ridiculousness of the offer. "Plaintiff does not stipulate to admissibility of such evidence. Besides, for obvious reasons, polygraph evidence is not valid within the confines of this mock trial."

"That's _convenient._ For you."

"Mr. Carlsen, I didn't ask for your opinion."

"You're twisting what happened."

"Your Honor," Harvey appealed to Jessica, "Witness is deflecting."

"Sustained. Answer the question, Mr. Carlsen."

Mike's face was pinched as he reluctantly said, "No. There is no evidence. Besides my word."

Louis looked about ready to breathe fire at that admittance, and though there was nothing Harvey disliked more in the world than agreeing with Louis, he was fairly sure that had Mike been _his_ witness, he would be fairly aggravated as well.

"This algorithm wasn't yours to sell, was it?" he said quietly.

"It was _my_ idea," Mike stubbornly maintained.

"We've just established that fact can't be proven."

"It can't be _disproven_ either."

He smiled thinly. "We'll see."

:::

_yesterday_

"I need to talk to you," Mike said, as he walked inside of Harvey's office and plopped down on the couch. When exactly had the kid become so comfortable in his office anyhow?

"And I don't need to hear it," Harvey said, deliberately keeping his attention fixed on the mock trial case files.

"Can you cut the arrogant asshat act for a second?"

Well, that settled _that_; the kid was definitely far too comfortable around him. He set down his pen and said offered blithely, "Please come in."

A beat.

"There. Your second's over." He returned his attention to the papers.

"_Listen to me_," Mike insisted, "You've read the case. Don't you find it a bit _coincidental_?"

He did. He found everything about the damn case suspicious.

Christopher Carlsen, the quintessential screw-up. He'd been raised by a single mother, in a poor household, and had resorted to petty theft to make his means. He had attempted to steal Professor John Russell's wallet, and been caught in the act. But oddly, the professor had felt sorry for the kid and tried to turn him into an honest man. He'd given the kid a job in his lab, and when Chris had shown promise, mentored and guided him. Thanks to his influence, the kid had been accepted to UC Berkeley, where he had continued researching AI in Russell's lab.

The two had been working on a more intelligent face-detection algorithm, and just finalized it, when Chris had sold it to a startup for several million dollars. And now Professor Russell was suing for IP theft.

The parallels of the relationship between Chris and Professor Russell and himself and Mike were only too glaring. The fact that _Louis_, the one man he detested most in the entire firm, the one man he absolutely _could not lose to_, was his opponent was just the cherry topping to the obvious.

Jessica had set this up.

Harvey knew that, Louis knew that, and judging from the look on Mike's face, the kid had figured it out, too.

"She's punishing me," Mike said, "for backing off of Rachel during the associate's mock trial. She's trying to make this an object lesson. She's using you, and she's using me."

Right on the money. He knew he had hired the kid for a reason. But given the delicacies of the situation, he could neither confirm nor deny, and so he kept his voice carefully controlled. "Will that bit of speculation help you win the case?"

"No, but - "

"Then stop speculating."

"We're being manipulated here. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Dial down on the paranoia, Captain Queeg."

"Harvey," Mike sounded frustrated, "Why won't you _look at me_?"

With deliberateness, Harvey tossed the file he was reading to the desk and angled back in his chair, favoring his associate with an expression that was a cross between bemused and patronizing. "What do you want me to say, Mike? What can I say that will get your ass out of my office so I can get back to work?"

The tactic worked. Mike's expression turned flinty. "You've said enough," he said, before he pushed himself to his feet and strode out of the office. Every step radiated with silent fury, and Harvey was momentarily grateful for the fact that the doors at Pearson Hardman couldn't slam, because he was pretty damn sure that all the glass walls would have been shattered.

_You've said enough._

He hadn't said enough. He hadn't said any of the vast number of things that he _wanted_ to say.

Because he couldn't.

Harvey exhaled slowly as the angry footsteps receded. Oh hell. He knew exactly why the kid had come in here. Mike had come in wanting his advice, wanting his reassurance, wanting to hear that they were a team, and that Harvey had his back. And he did have the kid's back, he justified to himself, in any real world situation - but this was different. This was a _trial _(and the fact that it was a mock trial was absolutely irrelevant because even mock trials had winners and losers), and Harvey simply didn't do defeat.

His hands tightened around the papers, his knuckles whitening. Though his rational mind, his _lawyer_ mind, argued it fiercely, he knew exactly what he had to do to win. That annoying little realization had been exactly why he hadn't been able to look Mike in the eyes and why he'd been so quick to try to throw him out of his office.

Guilt - like a knife, twisting in his gut.

Damn this trial.

:::

"Did you regard Professor Russell as your mentor?"

"I did. I _do_."

"You said you owe him everything. Why is that?"

"He gave me a job, he tutored me in computer science, he paved the way for my admission to Cal."

"Are you in the habit, Mr. Carlsen, of repaying individuals by stealing from them?"

"I didn't," Mike said tightly.

"But you do have a history of stealing, do you not?"

"Objection, argumentative," Louis said.

"Sustained," Jessica said, "Move on, counsel."

He had been ready to anyway. Harvey held up several sheets of paper. "Your bank statements, Mr. Carlsen, for the five months prior to the incident. I see a net balance of scarcely a hundred dollars in all five statements. Would you say that you were low on money?"

"I'm a college student. That's a given."

"What were you spending all this money on? Professor Russell had gotten you in on a full scholarship, plus room and board. You were also receiving a fairly generous stipend for your work in his lab."

"Personal expenses."

"Personal expenses. I don't recall Ramen noodles being quite that expensive. But marijuana, on the other hand..."

Mike's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

"You smoked pot when you were younger, didn't you?" Harvey pressed.

"A bit."

"That's a yes?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you had the misguided idea that selling the algorithm was the only way you could earn enough money to fuel your growing addiction."

"Objection," Louis stood up so quickly he overturned his chair, "Counsel is speculating. Move to strike."

"Sustained. Jury will disregard last statement by plaintiff," she looked at Harvey levelly, recognizing the tactic for what it was.

He had been expecting that. Any lawyer worth his salt damn well knew what the rules of direct and cross examination were. And any good lawyer also knew that such rules were meant to be strategically broken. After all, a jury could be ordered to disregard illicit questions or ignore inadmissible evidence, but it was another matter entirely for them to _actually_ prevent what they'd heard from biasing their judgment.

The damage had been done, anyway. He had put the idea for a motive up in the air.

:::

_yesterday_

Donna intercepted him on his way to the research library that doubled as the mock trial courtroom.

"I think the saying goes 'don't bite the hand that feeds you'," she said, falling into step next to him, "But the saying never accounted for the situation where the hand does the biting."

"Hands don't have teeth."

"So I'm guilty of a bad analogy. The _point_ still stands."

He paused and regarded her. "You know, Donna, I'm getting the vaguest feeling that there's something you want to tell me. "

She put her hands on her hips and said sarcastically, "Your Harvard education is showing."

"I have two minutes before my opening statement. Could I please get the succinct version?"

"Don't be an ass."

Considering the rather disconcerting level of respect he had been receiving from his subordinates lately, being a boss and a senior partner was certainly overrated. "That's pithy," he acknowledged dryly.

Her expression completely serious now, she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "I mean it, Harvey. You can break Mike. Everyone here knows you can; you know him better than anyone, and the kid is incredibly vulnerable - and _especially_ to you."

That was nonsense. It absolutely, obviously was not in the game plan to take advantage of Mike's weaknesses - his pathological need for approval, his fear of letting people down - in order to destroy his credibility as a witness.

Except it was.

"Donna," he began, uncomfortably.

"But the reason he's vulnerable to you is the same reason why you can't abuse that trust. The kid _worships_ you, okay?"

"He's a grown man, he can handle himself, and this isn't even real," Harvey argued. Immediately, he could tell from the look on her face that excuse wasn't working. He tried a different tactic: "I won't be attacking _him_, all right? I'm attacking a Mr. Christopher Carlsen."

She looked at him fiercely. "You go on telling yourself that."

He would. He would if he damn well pleased, and if truth dared do something so inconvenient such as beg to disagree, then Harvey was going to leave truth groveling on its knees. "I'll see you after the trial."

"If you win, I can promise you that it won't feel like one," she snapped.

"I'll be able to hold this over Louis for all eternity," Harvey said, throwing her one of his patented smiles, "Trust me, Donna, it'll feel like a win."

:::

The mood was jubilant, eager, _ravenous_. Associates chattered animatedly as they filed into the mock trial 'courtroom' and took their seats along the back row. By all outward appearances, they were simply eager to see the match-up of two of Pearson Hardman's most notorious lawyers - but underneath the bright smiles and blithe jokes was a voracious, buzzing undercurrent.

This was the day, finally, that Harvey's golden boy would fall. This was the day that Harvey himself would tear him apart. Because everyone _knew_ that Harvey Specter was going to win this case.

No matter the cost.

:::

"How were relations between yourself and Professor Russell prior to you selling the algorithm?"

"They were fine."

"You are under oath, Mr. Carlsen," Harvey said mildly.

"They were _fine_," Mike repeated.

"Interesting." Harvey returned to his desk where he picked up several documents. "Your Honor, I would like to mark the following emails exchanged between Professor Russell and Mr. Carlsen as Plaintiff's Exhibits 8, 9, and 10."

"Yes," Jessica nodded.

"Permission to approach the witness?"

"Yes."

Harvey handed the three printouts to Mike. "Can you please identify these exhibits to the court?"

"They're emails."

"Yes, Mr. Carlsen, they are, in fact, emails," Harvey said dryly. There were a few titters from the audience. "Exhibit 8 is an email from Professor Russell demanding to know why you haven't been showing up to work for over two weeks. Exhibit 9 is an email warning you to stop showing up at work high. Exhibit 10 is an email pointing out various bugs that you introduced into the code, bugs which significantly setback progress, and an accusation that you were high while you were working."

Mike stared back at him defiantly.

"Your definition of fine?"

"I didn't say they were stupendous."

"They are concerning though." Harvey looked him in the eye, with significance, and moved into Mike's space, obstructing his peripheral view. It was just the two of them now, face-to-face. There was no judge, no jury, no panel of associates and partners watching.

Play the man.

"You were given a chance."

Mike's gaze was fixated on Harvey.

"You lacked qualifications, and you were hired anyway."

Those blue eyes were wide now, wide and anxious - and _guilty_.

"But you couldn't keep yourself out of trouble. You couldn't keep yourself from your old habits. You started showing up at work late. Your work became sloppy. You fell back into your drug habits. You blew all your money. Do you deny any of that?"

_You're high. Get out._

"I - "

_You and I had a deal._

"Consider the evidence before you speak."

Hesitantly, Mike's mouth opened and closed.

"Let the record reflect no answer." Harvey narrowed his eyes. "You were a disappointment."

The effect was startling. Mike's face instantly drained of all color. "No," he said, thickly.

He had been expecting a response, but he hadn't been expecting _that _sort of vehemence_._ A bit taken aback, Harvey nevertheless continued harshly: "You were given the opportunity of a lifetime. You were given a chance when you deserved nothing. And you threw it all away for some quick cash."

Mike was still holding the printouts in his hands. The papers trembled. The kid quickly set them down and pressed his palms together, looking flustered.

The plan was working. It was working exactly as Harvey had hoped it would. He felt sick inside.

"You were a disappointment," he said again, very quietly, as if _he_ were disappointed.

Mike flinched as if Harvey had hit him.

And as he saw those blue eyes, at the wounded, betrayed look, a memory that he had long since suffocated beneath layers and layers of repressed emotion tore violently through the years.

_"Harvey? Harvey, please don't tell Dad. He'll be so angry. He was so mad that time I got pushed off the swing."_

_"Relax, squirt. I'll handle the bully, all right? Dad'll never find out."_

_But their father had found out._

_"You are such a fucking disappointment!" The roar, filled with anger. "Goddamn!"_

_His little brother, cowering, tears in his eyes._

_"Stop it! Shut up!" Harvey's shout, desperate. "Leave him alone!"_

_Their father flung an arm out accusingly. "See that? See how Harvey at least has some spine?"_

_"He's just a kid," Harvey protested._

_"That's bullshit. What good is a son who can't even stand up for himself? You, boy, you're no son of mine. You're such a disappointment."_

_His brother's lower lip wobbled, his blue eyes wide and glassy with tears. "Please," he whimpered._

There was a taste like iron in his mouth, cloying.

The bright lights of the research library and Mike's ashen face and overly glassy eyes came sharply back into focus, and Harvey shuddered violently as the memory faded. There was something like ice seizing through his body, chilling him to the bone with stone cold realization. Or maybe it was a fire, a fire burning so hot it was deceptive.

His brother's face, crumpled, wet with tears.

The mock trial. The case. The cross-examination. Mr. Carlsen. The case he _had_ to win.

His associate. _His _associate. The kid who looked up to him, who trusted him. The kid who so desperately always wanted his approval.

With a sinking feeling, Harvey realized that all that admiration was unwarranted. Shit, but he _was_ abusing Mike's trust. And for what? To win a mock trial? A _mock_ trial? With nothing on the line but his pride...but no, that was everything. And after all, the kid had to _learn_. He had to learn that real lawyers didn't back off just because it was the easy thing to do. That was why Jessica had even instigated this entire trial. To teach that very lesson.

He couldn't back off, but he couldn't continue.

Mike's blue eyes were blinking rapidly. Suspiciously rapidly. His jaw worked.

He had a duty to protect this kid, this screw-up kid with the crazy memory that he had thrown into the high-stakes corporate world. Mike _depended_ on him for protection, and that realization was all it took. Something in him cracked. He wasn't sure what, but his steely resolve sure as hell was gone, and it had taken with it some piece of him.

He couldn't do it. _He couldn't do it._

Feeling oddly hollow inside, Harvey took a step backwards. "Objection," he said hoarsely, "Badgering the witness."

Silence. The room was deadly silent.

All Harvey could hear was the sound of his own breathing, ragged, dissonant.

"You are not the defense counsel," Jessica finally said, impassively. "It isn't your prerogative to raise objections."

He met her disapproval dully. "Louis isn't doing his job. I _was_ badgering the witness."

"That isn't your call."

Bull fucking shit. Harvey leveled his gaze at Louis. "Raise the objection," he said. There was nothing in his voice that betrayed his inner thoughts: no anger, no emotion - but he could still feel the guilt slicing through him like a knife. He could feel the humiliation, heavy and heated, like molten rock.

Still, silence.

"Raise the goddamn objection," he repeated tonelessly.

The junior partner blinked a few times, glancing around as if suddenly aware that everyone was staring at him. The air was thick with tension as he cleared his throat loudly, his mouth briefly splitting into a smile. "Objection. Badgering the witness."

Harvey stared stone-faced at Jessica, daring her to deny it.

"Sustained," Jessica paused, a pause laden with meaning, "I move to recess until tomorrow."

Her word was authority, and the room began emptying of occupants. Harvey felt as if he was moving on autopilot as he slowly returned to his desk and began gathering his files and folders. He was only too keenly aware of the condescending stares from the partners, the stunned expressions on the faces of the junior associates. There were hushed whispers, _judgmental _whispers.

Judging him.

The great Harvey Specter. Fallen.

Louis looked at him as if he wanted to speak, and then quickly thought better of it.

Mike was still sitting at the witness stand, looking shell-shocked.

And Jessica...Jessica was suddenly at his side. Her voice was soft and burred as she brushed past him. "My office. Now."

**TBC**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I must confess...I rarely publish a story until I have most of it written. This isn't the case here. I've been stuck at this point for DAYS because I've written myself into a hole. Ideas on what the heck to do now would be much appreciated. And of course, I always love to hear what you guys think. ;D Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Original Prompt:**

**Harvey is put in a situation where he has to cross-examine Mike for some reason (Jessica has the partners do mock trials to show the associates how it's done, since the associate's mock trial ended so poorly? Some far-fetched real trial?Whatevs!). A la "Play the Man," Harvey zeros in on some sensitive issue for Mike and "presses til it hurts" (Preferably Mike's almost pathological need for approval and his fear of letting Harvey down). Because Harvey is all about winning, and this is him showing Mike what it takes to be a lawyer. Only, Mike gets all flustered, and upset, and wounded looking, and Harvey can see him digging his nails into his palms and shaking and SWEET JEBUS ARE THOSE TEARS?**

**And Harvey CAN'T DO IT. He can't break Mike just to win - god help him, he cares more about his associate than winning, and when the fuck did that happen?**

**Bonus points for Mike being all YOU CARE YOU PICKED ME YOU'RE TOTALLY A GOOD PERSON DON'T DENY IT and Harvey being STFU THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED BUT IT TOTALLY IS.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: wowww, you guys are incredible! Thank you for all the kind reviews and encouragement. I'm always a bit apprehensive to post a new chapter after getting such great feedback for fear of being unable to meet expectations. :) But without further ado, here we go! Hope you all enjoy.**

:::

_Pyrrhic victory: a victory achieved at too great a cost. Named after King Pyrrhus of Epirus._

:::

"An explanation, please," Jessica said tersely, gracefully seating herself behind her desk. She left Harvey standing like an errant schoolboy. Ordinarily he would have bristled at the implication, but right now, he simply didn't know what to think.

Hell, she wanted an explanation, but he didn't even have his thoughts gathered.

"Harvey," she pressed, not appearing to be in the mood for patience.

He took in a deep breath and cast about hoping to regain some of his legendary control and poise. Christ. This was why he worked _so damn hard_ to smother his emotions, to keep everything tightly in check, because when his emotions were uncapped like this, he simply didn't know how to handle them.

"I was badgering the witness," he said, with forced nonchalance. "I didn't want to win by cheating."

"Is that what it was?"

He raised his head and looked at her.

And knew immediately that she wasn't buying it. "You have never been able to lie to me," she said archly.

Something like anger stirred in his chest. "And you're not as opaque as you'd like to think. You manufactured this situation. Louis is a crappy lawyer, but even _he_ would have had the foresight to call the argumentative objection." He paused for a moment, a moment which teetered precariously on the edge of a knife, the splitting fragile second between _before it was too late_ and _after the fact_. And then he plunged forward, "Louis would have called the objection. Unless you had ordered him not to."

His accusation hung heavy in the air.

"I would stop now before you say something you regret," she said, in a tone that implied there was much he should already be regretting.

That said it all.

"I know you don't like the kid, but that is surprisingly vindictive."

"This exercise had _nothing_ to do with my opinion on your associate."

He gave a derisive snort.

"Mike Ross made a crucial mistake in the associates' mock trial. I was expecting that you wouldn't make the same one. I had been _hoping_ that you would exhibit the strength and determination that we pride here at Pearson Hardman, the qualities _I_ instilled in you."

Every protest seemed lodged in his throat. Here, now, removed from the situation, removed from those haunted, wounded eyes, how could he possibly explain why he had done what he had done? That he had pulled back because he'd seen how his words had been hurting the kid? That was meaningless. What it came down to was that he had backed off. In front of many of the firm's senior partners and all the junior associates, he had shown his weakness.

"The firm needs to see you as invincible," she said.

"The firm knows my value. I shouldn't need to prove it in a game."

She eyed him critically. "You shouldn't need to. But you should _have_."

He was silent for a moment. Then: "What would you have done?"

"In what situation?"

"If you were me. If I were the witness." Harvey paced a few steps in front of her desk, and then clasped his hands behind his back and looked at her sideways. "You were the one to teach me to press it where it hurts. What would you have done?"

"I would have done as I taught you."

A humorless smile tugged at his lips; she hadn't even spent a second to contemplate the answer. "At whatever cost."

"We make a living taking risks," Jessica said, sharply, "Every day, we put ourselves out there and we bare our throats before the courts. It's a harsh, ruthless reality, but it is the one we live in. You did your associate no favors by shielding him."

"You shouldn't have orchestrated the situation," he flung back at her, "What benefit was there?"

"Then I would be doing _you_ no favors."

He stared at her, unseeing.

"Fix this," she said, "I don't care what you have to do."

"Or?"

"'Or,'" she said, with emphasis, "is not an option." Because in her world, Harvey Specter was a far greater asset than a Mike Ross, and she wasn't about to let him sacrifice himself.

He recognized the dismissal for what it was, but Harvey lingered there a moment longer, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown as he mulled over the situation.

She was concerned for him, and not just for his reputation. Certainly any outsider might wrongly perceive her stern words and his obstinate behavior as antagonism towards one another, but Harvey _knew_ her, knew her better than anyone. He heard every word that she left unsaid. She pushed him because that was what she felt he _needed_; she was angry because she was worried for him.

_Why are you doing this?_ he wanted to ask, but there was no point, because he already knew her answer.

It was her way of protecting them all.

_I'm pressing it where it hurts. For what purpose? So you learn your weaknesses, but more importantly so you learn to _correct_ your weaknesses, here, now, in a mock trial, where the price of failure doesn't carry the weight of forever._

:::

There was a dull throb radiating from his sinuses, and Harvey suppressed a groan as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the headache.

_Fix this_, Jessica had said. Easier said than done.

The mock trial case files - coupled with a fair number of leather-bound books - were spread out on his desk, and Harvey could've sworn that they had somehow grown mouths and were laughing at him. This was such a phenomenal waste of time, and they knew that. _Black's Law Dictionary, 9th Edition_ in particular was giggling insufferably.

A few seconds later, it finally occurred to him that was peculiar behavior.

Right. If his mind had reached the stage of personifying objects, he definitely needed sleep. But because the entire goddamn universe seemed to be against him today, the last person he wanted to see walked into his office just as Harvey was pulling on his suit jacket. Fuck, the kid had impeccable timing when it came to inconveniencing others.

His associate looked like hell. His face was showing a day's worth of stubble, his sleeves were rolled up and rumpled, and his hair was standing up at odd angles, as if he had spent the better part of the day thumping his head against the wall. "I've been trying to find you all day," the kid said, dropping heavily to the leather couch.

"Don't consider a career as a bounty hunter, then," Harvey said, "I've been here the entire day."

"Your watchdog's been outside."

Both of Harvey's eyebrows shot up. "My watch - ? Donna?"

"She doesn't _record_ conversations inside this room, right?" Mike suddenly looked very worried.

"For your sake, I hope not."

"She finally went home," Mike said, by way of explanation.

"I see." They were both doing a very precarious dance around the _real_ issue at hand, and Harvey wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Mike flushed a bit, looking anywhere but at Harvey. "It's just, whenever you're mad at me, she tends to be mad at me too."

There went the avoidance plan.

And why the hell would the kid think Donna was angry with him? Harvey was bewildered at his logic. Did Mike have no idea how fiercely Donna had tried to protect him earlier in the day? Good grief. Harvey hadn't spoken to her after the mock trial, not quite in the mood to speak with anyone, but of course, Donna had figured out precisely what had happened. Since she knew his moods so well, she hadn't brought it up. The only indication of her approval had been the mysterious appearance of his secret guilty pleasure on his desk: a delectable dessert from Max Brenner on Broadway.

"Stick to being a fake lawyer," he advised.

Several emotions ran across Mike's face. "Then," the kid said slowly, "that means you're _not_ mad at me."

Keeping his face carefully blank, Harvey leaned back in his chair and twirled a pen in his fingers.

"Your words imply that I'm wrong in my assumption that Donna's pissed off at me," Mike reasoned, "And if Donna's always mad at me when you're mad at me, then since she's not mad, by deductive logic, you're not mad."

His associate looked so darn hopeful at the prospect. Harvey blew out a sigh. Honestly, this mentoring thing was such an ass sometimes. "Why are you here?" he said, trying to ignore the deep pressure in his sinuses.

Mike looked momentarily crestfallen. "I've been doing research."

Harvey's eyes narrowed. "For the mock trial?"

"Yeah. I've found some precedent - "

"For the defense?" Harvey interrupted, not quite a question.

"For _you_."

Of course he had.

"Damnit, Mike," he muttered, "You know I can't use anything you've found."

The younger man's jaw jutted out stubbornly. "Why not?"

"You could be trying to sandbag me for all I know," Harvey said, suddenly irrationally annoyed at the naivety of the question. That naivety, after all, was what had tangled them into this goddamn situation in the first place. "When does the defendant _ever_ find evidence for the other side?"

"I wouldn't trick you."

"That's not the point."

"Harvey, I'm just trying to help!" Mike shot to his feet.

"You can't," Harvey said flatly. "We've already put the _mock_ in this mock trial. Let's not push it."

"This trial is a travesty. It's a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham."

Had Mike really just quoted Woody Allen's _Bananas_ at him? Harvey felt his headache compound as an entirely inappropriate flash of amusement jolted through him.

The kid quirked an eyebrow.

His irritation was gone as quickly as it had come. Harvey almost wished for it back, because all it left in its wake was the same disquieting feeling he'd done his best to ignore the entire evening. "Mike," he said wearily, "Go home. Or change the oil in my car if you need something to do."

Exasperatingly, his associate made no move to leave. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Today. During the cross-ex. You..."

"Louis was trying to cheat," Harvey said, in his firmest voice. "I didn't want to win on those terms."

A look of consternation crossed Mike's face. "Why can't you ever just admit - " he bit off the words, belatedly.

That he cared? That he actually gave a damn about his associate? That he had given up both his pride and the victory for him? Christ, that was a weakness he could _never_ admit.

"Admit _what_?" he said, an edge to his voice.

"You backed off. You went for the jugular, and you backed off. Because you _care_," Mike stressed.

The kid was _forever_ trying to push this overly sanguine point. Harvey was determined to set the record straight: "Yeah. I care. I care about _me, _and I didn't need the entire firm to see that I trained a weak associate. You were about to fall apart on the stand."

"I could've handled it!"

"Bullshit. You could have given Donna a run for her money, what with those tears in your eyes."

"You must need a new prescription," Mike bit back, "Oh yeah, don't think I haven't seen the glasses you try to hide from everyone."

The two glared irritably at each other.

Mike was the first to break the stalemate, stepping back and throwing up his hands in frustration. "Why do you always make it so damn hard to be grateful?"

Harvey's lips compressed into a thin line. A thousand acerbic retorts sprang to mind, but before he could pick which one would best cut his associate down to size, Mike spoke:

"I'm just - I'm just trying to say - look, _thanks_, okay?" he said, his ears flushing red. "I know what you did today. I get it, I do. I'm a reflection of you, blah blah, you don't give a crap about anything or anyone, you did what you did for yourself. That'll remain the official party line. But I _know_, Harvey. So just...thanks."

Shit. The kid really knew him. Harvey found himself in the rare situation of being completely speechless. Mike had known from the beginning that Harvey intended to break him on the stand. He had expected the betrayal. And when it hadn't come, he had been magnanimously forgiving - _grateful_, even. He had understood just what exactly it had cost Harvey to back off in front of the entire firm - every image he projected, every value he stood for.

Every value he _claimed_ he stood for.

There was an unpleasant, coiling feeling in his gut: the knowledge that he had come so very close to breaking this kid, this kid who was showing him such unwarranted loyalty.

"I'll go now," Mike said quietly, sounding deflated. He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew an object, which he placed at the edge of Harvey's desk. "Something for your headache," he said, before backing out of the office.

Harvey winced as the sense of unease and self-reproach doubled. Goddamn, but this day had been a long one. Hell, in lieu of a stiff drink, some ibuprofen would be welcome right now.

He reached forward - and then froze.

Mike had left a bottle of ibuprofen. _And a digital voice recorder._

Bits and pieces of the conversation rushed back to him. Mike's voice, unnaturally high: _she doesn't _record_ conversations inside this room, right? - Harvey, I'm just trying to help! - This trial is a travesty - Something for your headache._

He stared at the voice recorder, the idea forming in his head.

And then he shook his head, disbelieving. The kid was a genius.

:::

"Court is in session, _Russell vs. Carlsen_," Jessica said, "Mr. Specter, are you ready to continue with cross-examination of the witness?"

He had just opened his mouth to respond when Louis angrily interrupted, "Your Honor, defense moves for a mistrial."

The room erupted into shocked whispers. A pert frown creased Jessica's brow. "Sidebar," she commanded, waving them forward. "Louis, what is this?"

"I have in my possession a recording," Louis said, in a hushed, furious whisper, "Of my _defendant_ collaborating _on this case_ with Harvey. That led me to the only logical conclusion: this whole thing has been a set-up from the beginning. You saw the trial yesterday, you saw how Mike Ross let himself be led time and time again into admitting things. It was just too easy for Harvey. And then those crocodile tears at the end - it was all an _act_! They were working _together_ to mock me."

Harvey smiled disarmingly as Jessica turned a severe look onto him.

"I'm sure I don't even need to list the precedent," Louis continued, "But _State vs. Elliot, State vs. Walker_ - "

"I'm familiar with the legal precedent, thank you," Jessica said curtly, "What I _want_ is an explanation."

"I plead the 5th," Harvey quipped.

It clearly wasn't the answer she had been hoping for. Her lips tightened with displeasure, and she gave him a long, hard stare before she said, in a louder voice, "Court will recess for fifteen minutes. Gentlemen. My office. Let's listen to this recording."

:::

Inside Jessica's office, Mike's voice flowed clear and strong.

_"I've been doing research."_

_"For the mock trial?"_

_"Yeah. I've found some precedent - "_

_"For the defense?"_

_"For you."_

Louis gave an ugly smile as the recording ended. "See? Ross has been working for _Harvey_ this entire time."

"You know, Louis, that's observant of you, considering I hired him to be my associate," Harvey said.

"I meant during the duration of the mock trial!"

"Considering all those times you tried to pawn him, I'm not so sure you grasped the concept even before the mock trial."

"Harvey," Jessica censured, looking for a moment as if she was seriously considering throwing him out the window. "A word. Alone."

"I think that's your cue to _exeunt_," Harvey said patronizingly when Louis failed to leave the office. "What?" he said innocently, as Jessica's glare intensified to the power of a thousand supernovas, "I'm trying to speak his language."

"Louis, please," she gritted out.

He left, but not without first throwing a few attempts at death glares that reminded Harvey somewhat of a twitching squirrel. And then Harvey was alone, left alone with Jessica, a Jessica who was straightening herself to her full height and preparing to unleash what would undoubtedly be a magnificent maelstrom of fury upon him. "I should have you disbarred," she began, her voice low and silky.

Deciding it was in his best interests (or rather, imperative to his continued existence) to head her off early, Harvey reached into his pocket and withdrew another tape, juggling it casually with one hand.

Like an eagle, her focus immediately honed in. "What is that?"

"Are we off the record?"

"I'll be declaring a mistrial, so _yes_, we are off the record as there is no longer a record to be on," she snapped, "Now _kindly_ explain to me why exactly that is the case_._"

"This is the full tape of what was said when Mike came into my office. Louis had a truncated version of the tape that I left sitting on Donna's desk. A version that I _deliberately_ left on Donna's desk, knowing full well that he was likely to snoop around." As he was talking, he inserted the tape inside the cassette deck.

He played the recording for her, watching as her expression subtly shifted from cold fury to something rather akin to - dare he say it? - fond exasperation.

"I tell you to fix it," she sighed, "And this is what you come up with."

"Mike Ross did," Harvey said firmly. She needed now, more than ever, to see his associate's value.

She massaged her temples, and then fixed him with a fierce expression. "So this mock trial resulted in foul play all around and completely failed to achieve any of the desired objectives. Wonderful. Why couldn't you have just followed the plan and destroyed Mr. Carlsen on the stand?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Harvey surprised himself by answering it anyway.

"Because," he murmured, thinking of the look of pure devastation on Mike's face when he had said that he was disappointed in him, "It would have been a Pyrrhic victory."

:::

Over the next few days, Harvey wasn't in the mindset to see or interact with anyone outside of business need, and fortunately, it seemed that Mike shared the same opinion. When they saw one another, it was always quick, germane meetings.

"The Nathern patent files," Mike said, dropping off a heavy stack of manila folders at the edge of his desk.

"I need the Aldridge briefs reviewed by the end of the day," Harvey said, not looking up from his paperwork.

"You got it," Mike said, and left.

No jokes about how Mike's latest tie looked, if possible, even more dreary and scrawny than its predecessors. No movie quote exchanges. Strictly professional interactions. In truth, Harvey had no damn idea how to talk to the kid. There was so much to say, so much to _clear_ between them, and yet for all his skill with language and wordplay, he didn't know where to begin. And so avoidance was the name of the game, and they played it well.

Donna didn't approve. She tolerated the first couple of intermediary requests, and then set her foot down.

"Donna," Harvey said, pausing by her desk, "Could you please tell Mike - "

"No," she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"No?" His eyebrows shot up.

"Tell him yourself," she said pointedly, "I'm done enabling your childish behavior."

After several more seconds of lingering there and having her ignore his best "Et tu, Brute?" impressions, Harvey sighed and made his way to the junior associates' cubicles.

Just in time to hear the taunt:

"Awww, is Mikey-boy stuck working at the office again?"

"Better be careful, Jeffrey," someone else said, "He might tell on you to Mr. Specter. We all know how well he can fake a lip wibble."

"Shut the fuck up," Mike said, sounding distracted.

Harvey's steps slowed, the blood rushing to his head as he witnessed the shit that Mike had to put up with. From what he surmised off the office grapevine (all right, admittedly from what _Donna_ surmised off the office grapevine), the majority of the partners and associates were under the impression that the mistrial had been called because Mike and he had conspired to work together against Louis. The rivalry between the two partners was widely known; many had easily believed that Harvey and Mike had decided to make the whole mock trial a joke in order to put one over Louis. Jessica reluctantly encouraged the rumor, believing it far better for Harvey's reputation than the truth.

Since he was a senior partner, nobody dared ever bring the subject up in front of his face. It was clear Mike didn't share that privilege.

"About to cry on us, Ross?"

"Only from laughing after I wipe the floor with your ass." Mike.

A surge of pride rushed through him at his associate's defiant words. It seemed the kid had the situation firmly in hand, but Harvey wasn't about to just walk away, either.

He rounded the corner and folded his arms across his chest as he watched the scene unfold. The two junior associates - Jeffrey and...some kid whose name started with a 'A' - were leaning over Mike's cubicle wall, pressing in on his personal space. His associate had his white ear-buds firmly in his ears, his attention fixed on the screen.

"Ooh frightening," Jeffrey said, with a sneer. "Well, we're off to the happy hour. Catch you later, Ross." He made an imperious gesture with his hand to leave.

And then they saw Harvey, leaning against the wall, regarding them with a frown.

It was almost comical how simultaneously their eyes bugged out of their heads, how rapidly the color drained from their faces. "Mr. Specter," Jeffrey stumbled, looking like he desperately preferred to be seeing anything else - even Louis in a _towel_.

"If you feel you have the time to spare for a happy hour," Harvey said, his tone dangerously calm, "Then you clearly aren't indispensible to this firm. Jeffrey, was it? Tell me, what do you know about _Moulton vs. Kershaw_?"

Jeffrey looked at him, panicked.

"No? What about _Cotnam vs. Wisdom?_ _Daniels vs. Newton_?"

The associate was silent.

"Mike?" Harvey prompted.

"_Moulton vs. Kershaw_ established that there exists no contract unless a letter is clearly an offer and not simply an advertisement. _Cotnam vs. Wisdom_ determined that any individual who receives medical care while unconscious or helpless is liable for payment via implied contract if medical care is provided in good faith. _Daniels vs. Newton_ found that a seller may not bring action for breach of contract and seek remedy if buyer repudiates the contract, unless the seller has suffered a loss with a right already vested with him or been deprived from having performance he is entitled to receive."

Good boy.

Both the associates wore equally stunned and equally idiotic expressions on their faces. It would have been funny if it weren't so depressing, because these were _Harvard attorneys_ (though that phrase was meaning less and less, if these two shining examples were anything to come by.)

Harvey cocked an eyebrow. "You two want to talk like hotshots? Then you damn well better be able to back it up. I suggest, Jeffrey and crony, that you two brush up on your court cases tonight. Tomorrow, I'll pick three at random. If you can't identify them, well, then it's your resume you'll want to brush up next."

"You can't be serious," crony spluttered, "There's hundreds of thousands!"

Knowing that silence was often an underutilized and underappreciated weapon, Harvey held his annoyance firmly in check and smiled pleasantly. That was more effective than any threat, and the two associates hastily scuttled from his sight.

Mike was wearing a familiar goofy grin on his face.

For just one precarious moment, they could have taken advantage of the triumph over a common adversary and reverted back to their former ease. But Harvey couldn't find the words to make that happen, and the moment stretched on tautly, like a rubber band against a shiv, bristling with hazardous tension. The awkwardness returned.

"Uh," Mike said, and fell back into the safe confines of professionalism. "I'm just finalizing my summary. I'll have it on your desk in thirty minutes."

"Good," Harvey said. That had been what he had come down here to inquire about. Unfortunately, since Mike had already brought it up, that left him in the awkward position of having nothing additional to contribute to the conversation. "Make it sooner."

And then he turned and walked away.

:::

True to his word, Mike arrived twenty minutes later, several bound printouts in hand. As before, he set them down on the corner of Harvey's desk and then turned to go. Harvey thumbed through a contract draft.

Several seconds later, he noticed his associate was still in his office, struggling with the door.

He frowned. "Problems?"

"Um," Mike turned around, looking apologetic, "I think your door is locked."

"That door has a lock?" Harvey said blankly.

His intercom flared to life. "Yes, it does. Don't even bother trying to unlock it from the inside; it's controlled digitally via the security system."

"Donna," Harvey said, not in the mood for her theatrics, "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish - "

"No. Enough is enough. This door is going to remain locked until you two have worked things out."

Mike stared at him, looking aghast. Harvey fired a withering glare through the glass walls at Donna's back. He liked to think that he had at least intimidated the glass into fearing for its life because Donna seemed completely unfazed.

"But I just downed three coffees," Mike said weakly, "Couldn't you have given me a warning before I walked through the door?"

Even though he couldn't see her face, Harvey was sure that Donna had just rolled her eyes. "I'll get the ball rolling then," she said, "Mike, you're an idiot. Harvey isn't mad at you; I don't know why you always think he is. Harvey's been avoiding you because he's feeling _guilty_. And that's all you'll have from me, folks."

The intercom clicked off.

Harvey jabbed at the speak button. "Donna, unlock this door - " Or he would _what_? Resigned after his mind drew several blanks, Harvey realized that he had absolutely no leverage over her right at this moment in time.

"You don't have a bathroom in here, do you?" Mike sounded pained.

"_No_," Harvey said firmly.

"Excuse me. I wasn't _expecting_ to be put in a near hostage situation." The kid gave a slight hop.

"What are you, three?" Harvey said, "Hold it."

"Maybe we could call security? Ask them for a door override?"

"And tell them what, exactly? My own assistant has me locked in my office? Just sit down and be patient. She has to let us out eventually."

Mike looked pitifully at him. "Wouldn't it be faster if we just...you know..._talked_?"

Harvey set his jaw resolutely, staring more intently at the contract before him. _The undersigned parties hereby agree to the following provisions as conditions of the merger of Baylor Light Industries and Resser Technologies, henceforth known as The Merger_.

"You're feeling guilty?" Mike said, sounding oddly hopeful.

"I'm feeling _busy_."

"Harvey, you're not the one with a ticking time-bomb!"

"This is me concerned," Harvey turned a page.

"Donna, if you're still listening to this, I think it'd really give Harvey some valuable perspective if you locked him in here one time when _he_ needs the bathroom," Mike said, glaring.

Harvey ignored him. Several achingly long minutes passed, and then Mike spoke up again, "You know, this rug looks expensive."

"Piss on it and you're fired."

"HARVEY!" his associate practically shouted. "Look, 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry', okay? I'm sure Donna wants me to say one of those two things."

The guilt that he had tried so damn hard to suppress was gnawing furiously at him. Here he was, in the situation where _he_ was in the wrong, and _he_ should apologize, and he was, admittedly, being an ass. And besides, given what he knew of Donna's stubbornness, there was no way around this situation unless he planned to spend the rest of eternity locked inside his own office.

He had to speak. He had to speak _now_ while his infamous stoicism was caught off guard. "The mistrial, Mike. It was a good idea."

Mike stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly in a way that was almost comical.

The compliment had been easy enough to say, but now that the moment of truth was here, Harvey could feel his nerve to apologize rapidly depleting. "Why did you think I was angry with you?" Asking the questions was far, far easier.

"Well," Mike grimaced, "You...you backed off - and I know you _hate_ that - because you thought you had to."

"Maybe I did," he said, watching the kid bite his bottom lip in embarrassment, "But maybe we shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place."

"You had to win. You were just doing what you had to do." His associate said it dully, by rote.

Pain and guilt stabbed through him. The proper answering words were stuck in his throat, his pride and reserve desperately clinging to them - and Harvey forced out, "It doesn't make it right."

It was as close to an apology as he could come.

Mike looked flabbergasted at the confession. "But you were so hell-bent that I break Rachel in the mock trial."

"That's different."

"Looks the same from where I'm standing."

"Maybe you should move." He was equivocating.

The kid blinked at him. "That's...philosophical."

How could he even begin to explain? Mike had wanted to protect Rachel because she was a pretty paralegal and he operated with some old-fashioned sense of honor that frowned upon things like making a woman cry on the stand. But Harvey _needed_ to protect Mike. It wasn't a transient act of chivalry; it was a fundamental responsibility. The kid was more - far, far more - than just his associate, and Harvey's loyalty, once earned, was both relentless and forever. "It's my job, Mike," he said roughly. Fuck, that didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

Because he didn't mean 'job' like _Mike was his employee._ He meant 'job' like _it was his duty_.

Mike's eyes narrowed. "Because I'm a reflection of you. And you protect yourself."

The words were tossed out there like a challenge, almost daring him to deny it. He could have. He could have _still_.

But he didn't.

"No," Harvey said, uncharacteristically gently.

No. Just that one word: no. Yet from the way Mike's eyes lit up, it was clear that the one simple confession meant so much more: it was absolution, it was recompense, it was an _I'm sorry_ and _you know, kid, you're actually pretty damn awesome_ rolled up into one.

The two stared at each other. A silly grin was beginning to edge back onto Mike's face, and unbidden, a smile was threatening to tug at Harvey's features. Damn the kid and his contagious exuberance.

The door clicked.

Both men swung their heads to stare at it, and then Mike's expression flooded with relief. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and then said, "Look, I think we're having a moment here. In the movies, this would be the time for some uplifting music a la 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.' But um, I really have to - " he jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Go," Harvey said, grateful for the opportunity to avoid talking further.

His associate rushed out.

Harvey reclined in his chair, feeling relieved and light and _happy_. "Donna, I think that was a textbook example of duress."

"Moment's not over yet, Specter," she said.

And then he flat out laughed as the music began playing over the intercom:

_Somewhere over the rainbow  
>Skies are blue<br>And the dreams that you dare to dream  
>Really do come true<em>

Now _this_ felt like a victory.

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I have no idea how my original 1K response to this prompt became a story over 10K. I really, really don't. Yeesh, someone stop me! Thanks again to phreakycat for the awesome prompt, and thanks to you all for the read! I'd love to hear your thoughts.<br>**


End file.
